


13. Dramatic

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Creampie, Crying, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Depression, Derogatory Language, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Emotional Hurt, Friends to Lovers, Gender Dysphoria, Gender or Sex Swap, If You Squint - Freeform, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Erections, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Bad Time, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Love Confessions, M/M, Misogyny, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Transphobia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: dramaticGeralt is definitely not equipped to deal with this.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 56
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok.
> 
> I thought about this idea for a very long time before writing this. I didn't feel that I, as a more or less cis woman (I wouldn't call myself genderqueer or anything, I just... don't care? I don't know), was maybe not the best person to write this. I have some breast-related dysphoria that comes and goes but that's the extent of my experience with that, and so I waffled for a very long time on whether or not I was qualified for this. Shout-out to my friends (NB and transmasc, if you must know, and yes, I'm aware that this sounds like "Well I have Black friends!" and I hate it, too) who reassured me that I was handling it okay.
> 
> So let me preface this with a very serious content warning: this is NOT a happy "yay I have a vagina now, let's fuck" story. This is a cis man getting turned into a person with breasts and a uterus and vagina against his will, and he is absolutely devastated. There is a curse that has very specific requirements for being broken (yes, it's sex, because duh) and Jaskier hates every second of being in this body. Geralt unthinkingly says some VERY hurtful (gendered) things to him over the course of the story that can absolutely be read as transphobic.  
> There will be a happy ending but the journey will contain a lot of crying, dysphoria and a very clueless and conflicted Geralt who realises some things about his relationship with Jaskier when faced with this new body that he is very attracted to.
> 
> If any of this could be triggering to you, please leave. I understand completely. If you'd like to talk to me about this (or yell at me), come find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09). My DMs are open. ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Geralt being super dismissive of the curse, Jaskier being a mess, both discovering the dubious joys of sharing Roach's saddle, Jaskier being generally overwhelmed and trying to figure out this new body

"Stop being so dramatic." Geralt knows the words are a mistake the second they leave his lips, but really. Telling the bard to stop being dramatic is akin to asking him to stop breathing.

Predictably, Jaskier puffs himself up indignantly. " _Excuse me?_ I'd like to see you wake up with fucking _tits_ and not lose your shit about it!"

Geralt rolls his eyes. "They're just tits," he says as he finishes putting away his bedroll.

"They're _not just tits_!" Jaskier's voice climbs, louder and louder, until he's yelling. "I mean, look at me!"

With a huff of amusement, Geralt looks. Jaskier is standing on the other side of their fireplace, hands on his hips and an absolutely murderous expression on his face. "Looks fine to me," Geralt says teasingly, and Jaskier opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. Then he bends over, picks up whatever is closest at hand - which happens to be a boot - and throws it at Geralt. Or rather, in Geralt's general direction. The boot sails past him, harmlessly dropping into the dirt behind him.

" _Gods_!" Jaskier shrieks and grabs his hair, pulls. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have fucked that woman," Geralt says neutrally as he continues to pack up his things.

Jaskier plops down on the ground, plump bottom lip pushed out in a pout. "Yeah, maybe, but does that give her thrice cursed husband to right to curse me? I mean, who does that?!" He angrily gestures at himself again. "Nobody's going to believe I'm the famous bard Jaskier when some _girl_ walks into their tavern!"

"Does it matter what's between your legs? Does it affect your singing?" Geralt is pushing it, he knows, but seeing the bard this flustered is proving to be a lot of fun.

"As I said, you try waking up as a woman out of the blue on for size and then we can talk." He tosses his head, shaking his now long hair out of his face. "A pox on it!"

There are angry tears in his eyes now, and his shoulders shake, and Geralt decides to take pity on him. At least a little. He walks around the fireplace, kneels behind Jaskier and gathers his hair into his hands. "Hold still."

Jaskier makes a noise of surprise but actually does as he's told. "What are you doing?"

"Your hair is bothering you, and I don't want to have to listen to you whine about it all day." He quickly divides the chestnut strands into three parts, then braids them. He ties it off with one of his own hair ties and lays it across Jaskier's shoulder. "Here." Done, he gets back to his feet and continues packing up camp.

When Jaskier hasn't moved in a while, Geralt huffs and turns around to admonish him. He wants to get going, and he's not going to wait around forever, regardless of Jaskier's current predicament. He doesn't say anything, however, when he sees Jaskier still in the same spot, holding the braid with both hands.

He's crying silently, fingers tight around his hair, and Geralt has no idea what could be wrong now.

"Jaskier?"

"I-" The bard sniffs, lets go of the braid and wipes his nose with his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Geralt, I just-" He laughs, a wet, pained sound. "This is all a bit much."

Geralt softens, then feels bad. He's been an arse about this, really. "Hmm," he says, and moves to sit next to Jaskier. "I'm sorry," he says at length, and Jaskier leans his head against his shoulder. "We'll get rid of this," he adds.

"How? I mean, this is just untenable." Jaskier sighs deeply, and Geralt is afforded an excellent view of his breasts through the gaping collar of his chemise.

He looks away rather quickly and clears his throat. "We could ask Yen?"

Jaskier groans and flops onto his back, arms spread wide. "Must we? You know she'll _never_ let me live this down."

"There's some other mages that could help, but we're closest to Vengerberg."

"Of course we fucking are." He huffs again and throws an arm over his eyes. "Oh, alright."

Actually getting to Vengerberg proves to be a bit of a problem. None of Jaskier's clothes fit him right; his boots too large, his trousers too long yet tight around the hips so he can't close them with the buttons, his smallclothes - which also sit oddly on his wider hips - peeking out in front. He looks a little ridiculous.

"We'll have to find you something else to wear," Geralt says, and Jaskier's cheeks colour.

"You're _not_ putting me in a _dress_ ," he hisses, and Geralt shrugs.

"Suit yourself." He tightens the last buckle on Roach's tack, then mounts up. Jaskier stands there, looking pitiful. His boots threaten to fall off with every step, Geralt knows, and he reaches out a hand. "Come here," he says, and at Jaskier's blank look adds, "You'll get blisters if you try and walk in those."

Again Jaskier blushes. "I thought no one was allowed on Roach."

Quite frankly, Geralt's patience is wearing thin, and he slides off of Roach's back again, grabs Jaskier around the waist and lifts him into the saddle. The bard squawks in surprise, and Geralt pulls off his boots and shoves them in one of the saddlebags, then mounts up again, pulling Jaskier against his chest. "Can we fucking go now? I thought you wanted this curse lifted."

Jaskier sits stiffly, hands fisted in Roach's mane. He leans away from Geralt, shuffles forward a bit. "Yes, well, sorry if I'm a little _emotional_."

Geralt winds an arm around his waist and pulls him back again. Jaskier makes a noise of protest. "You'll fall off," he says gruffly, and Jaskier deflates and lets himself be held in place.

"Right." He breathes deeply, then lets go of Roach's mane and puts his hands over Geralt's forearm. "Well, off we go then."

Geralt rolls his eyes and urges Roach forward with a press of his thighs.

Riding like this should be uncomfortable. There is no space between them, Jaskier leaning fully back against him now, his thighs pressed against Geralt's. His arm brushes against the side of Jaskier's breast every time their weight shifts to the right, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind any of this. He's uncharacteristically quiet, true, but there's no tension in him, and Geralt decides to just enjoy the silence, however long it may last.

After a while though, Jaskier shifts around, again and again. He makes a frustrated sound that comes out high and annoyed, and he puts a hand on the front of the saddle to lift himself away from it. He only succeeds in pushing himself harder against Geralt and, unfortunately, presses his arse tightly into Geralt's crotch.

"Stop fidgeting," he growls, and Jaskier stills, but only for a second. He at least moves his arse away again, but he doesn't stop moving. Geralt tightens his arm around his waist. " _Stop it_ ," he says again, and Jaskier whines.

"I _can't_. Can we- Can I sit behind you? This isn't working."

"Why? What's wro-" He leans forward to see if anything is wrong with the saddle, and in the process catches a lungful of Jaskier's scent.

Oh.

Fuck.

"It's this... this stupid pommel," Jaskier mutters, and Geralt can feel the way his skin heats up as he blushes.

"Right," he says, head spinning a little. He tugs Roach to a stop. "Sure, we can-"

Jaskier is off the horse before Geralt can finish his sentence, then stretches. His face is still flushed, and he wipes his hands on his trousers before he turns back to Geralt, one hand outstretched. Geralt rolls his eyes and pulls him up to sit behind him.

"Much better, thank you _ever_ so much," he says, only slightly sarcastically. He shifts around a little on the rolled up blanket until he finds a good position, then winds his arms around Geralt's waist. "Ready," he says, and Geralt coaxes Roach forward again.

The problem with this position becomes apparent to Geralt rather quickly. Jaskier doesn't smell of arousal anymore, doesn't push his arse against Geralt's cock, but now his entire front is against Geralt's back, and that means that Geralt is becoming rather closely acquainted with Jaskier's breasts. They press against him insistently even through his armour.

They're... good breasts, he thinks, distracted by the way Jaskier's arms tighten around him as Roach steps over a log. Just a nice handful, small enough that Jaskier doesn't need to bind them to be comfortable. "Shouldnt be long to the next village," he says, somewhat hoarsely, and Jaskier hums in acknowledgement.

About an hour and a half into the journey, Jaskier starts fidgeting again, and Geralt can't stop his annoyed growl.

"What now?"

"Can we stop? I need to piss, I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know! It feels _weird_ , alright?"

Geralt growls again and pulls Roach to a stop. "Be quick about it."

Jaskier slips off, then stomps off into the trees, grumbling to himself. After a few moments, Geralt hears a hearty, "Fuck, how does- Melitele's fucking cunt, how does this _work_?"

Geralt schools his face into neutrality as Jaskier comes stomping back a while later, fighting with the laces holding his trousers closed, his cheeks an angry red. "All done?" Geralt can't quite keep the amusement out of his voice, and Jaskier glares at him as he holds out a hand.

"Oh, shut it."

Geralt hauls him back onto Roach, and they continue on to the village.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Geralt's dick continues to be inappropriately interested in Jaskier's new shape, Jaskier looks at said new shape, and there is a lot of crying and emotions boiling over. Nobody is having a good time.

In an odd stroke of luck, there's a seamstress who agrees to alter Jaskier's clothes for him. She obviously doesn't believe his explanation that they must have "shrunk in the wash", given how unevenly they fit him, but she takes them anyway. Jaskier wants to refuse the offered shift, but he relents when Geralt tells him to put the damn thing on.

"Would you rather go naked?"

There's quite a lot of grumbling from behind the screen set up in the seamstress's work room, and the woman hides a smile in a fake cough.

Jaskier steps out from behind the screen after a moment, arms crossed angrily and face thunderous. "There, I'm wearing it. Happy?"

The bard stands in front of the window, the light falling through it turning the white fabric of the shift nearly translucent. It only falls down to his knees, and Geralt turns away. "Ecstatic," he deadpans, his throat tight, and Jaskier tosses a bobbin at his head.

Altering the garments will take her until noon the next day, the woman tells them, and she tells them about the inn just around the corner, which is apparently both cheap and clean, two things that don't necessarily go together.

"Where's your shoes, dearie," she asks as Jaskier shrugs Geralt's cloak onto his shoulders, and before either of them can protest, she's disappeared into the back, telling them to wait just a moment. When she comes back, she brings a pair of shoes, unusually dainty for a village like this. "Here, these should fit. They were my daughter's but then she got pregnant and her feet grew two sizes!"

Jaskier stares down at the really very feminine shoes, then looks up at Geralt with an expression of mild panic. Geralt clears his throat awkwardly. "We'll take them, thank you." Jaskier splutters angrily for a second before he catches the look on the woman's face, and then he presses his lips together in a forced smile.

"Never in my entire life have I had to suffer such an indignity," the bard mutters as they make their way to the inn, Geralt's cloak wound tightly around his body. "I mean look at them!" He lifts the hem of the cloak and pokes out a foot. His ankles are very slim, Geralt thinks.

"They're just shoes, Jaskier," he says roughly, and continues down the road.

The inn is small, with just two rooms to be rented out, and one is taken. That leaves them with the other, a cramped space with a bed that's at least wide enough for two. There's even a small chest of drawers and a half-blind mirror. Jaskier throws off the cloak and then flops down face first on the feather bed, his legs sticking out over the side.

"Why is it always me," he grumbles, then pounds his fist into the pillow.

Geralt decides to ignore his histrionics and sets about removing his armour. He could go have a look at the notice board, he thinks, see if there's work to be found, but part of him is reluctant to leave Jaskier alone like this. Who knows what sorts of trouble the bard could get into, looking the way he does?

Because the worst part of all of this is that Jaskier is attractive. When he thinks about it - something he avoids doing if at all possible - he's _always_ been attractive, as both man and woman. He probably shouldn't be surprised by this revelation, given how many people Jaskier talks rather effortlessly into his bed. He's handsome and knows how to wield his looks to get what he wants, and is not ashamed to do it.

Which, to be fair, is what landed them in this mess.

"I'll go see about something to eat," he says when he's finished putting away his things. Jaskier is still laying on his front, head now hidden under a pillow, and he makes a disgruntled noise. Geralt's eyes linger on the swell of his arse, the dip of the small of his back, just for a moment. "You want anything?"

"Please check if they sell beer by the bucket, I would like to get quite thoroughly sloshed today."

"Do you think that's wise?"

Jaskier doesn't answer, just lifts his hand and makes a rude gesture. Geralt rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

When he comes back ten minutes later, with a loaf of bread, some cheese and apples and a pitcher of beer, he shoulders the door open without thinking about it.

Maybe he _should_ have thought about it.

Jaskier is standing in front of the small mirror, shift pulled up to his chin. He's bare underneath, and Geralt stares for a too long moment. Jaskier looks at him over his shoulder, mouth open in surprise, and then he flushes beet red and drops the shift.

"Could you maybe fucking _knock_?!" 

"Why would I knock on my own room," he asks, studiously not looking at Jaskier as he carries the food over to the bed.

"I... I could have been... using the chamber pot," Jaskier stammers, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

"I'm regularly in hearing distance when you take a shit in the woods. I could hear you taking a piss today. Why would this be different?"

Jaskier doesn't answer, and when Geralt looks at him over his shoulder, the bard has his arms wound tightly around himself. There are tears in his eyes again, and Geralt sighs.

"Jaskier," he says, and Jaskier grips himself tighter. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm... I'm sorry," Jaskier murmurs. His tears drip onto the shift. "I don't know what's _wrong_ with me, why I'm so..." He huffs angrily, then wipes at his eyes. "I'm sorry that you always have to put up with my bullshit."

Geralt runs a hand down his face. "Fuck, Jaskier, that's- Come here." Jaskier looks up then, surprised, but does as he's bid. He pads over to Geralt and sits beside him, arms still around himself, and Geralt puts a hand on his shoulder. "I've been... I'm sorry if you think that... I'm not taking this seriously, or that I don't care, or am angry with you. I'm not."

"But you said-"

"Forget what I said. We're going to fix this, alright?"

Jaskier sniffles, his arms loosening and hands falling into his lap. "Alright." He picks at the hem of the shift absently. "Thank you, I guess."

"You're my friend, Jask. No need to thank me for helping you."

"Allow me to disagree," Jaskier says and gives him a watery smile. Geralt squeezes his shoulder, then lets go.

"Come on, eat something. You'll feel better."

Jaskier snorts a laugh. "I'll feel better when that pitcher is dry."

"No, you won't," Geralt says drily, and Jaskier laughs again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some slight misogynistic/victim blamey language

Once they've eaten, Jaskier drapes himself across the bed and starts scribbling in his notebook, a mug of beer balanced precariously against his elbow. Geralt takes the opportunity to look through his stock of potions and herbs, making a mental list of things he needs to gather or buy more of.

After a while, when it's starting to get dark outside and Geralt has lit a fire in the hearth, Jaskier asks, "Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Have you ever heard of a curse like this? Met someone afflicted by one?"

"Yes, and no."

"Do you know how to lift it?"

"Every curse is different. There are things they have in common, but I can't tell." He gives Jaskier a pointed look. "We need a mage to have a look."

Jaskier huffs and blows a lock of hair out of his face. "Alright, keep your hat on, I get the message. Scary sexy witch it is." He drops his pen into his notebook and snaps it shut. "Right. I'm going to... check out the privy."

"Want me to come with you?"

Jaskier looks at him flatly. "I think I can manage to take a piss on my own. I'm not going to be jumped by some random rapist on my way to the privy."

"Looking like that, you might." He gives him a pointed look, and Jaskier gapes at him, then throws one of the pillows at him.

" _You_ wanted me to wear this!"

"Would you really have preferred going naked?"

"Maybe I should have! Would have saved me from this _inane_ conversation!"

"Damn it, Jaskier," and now his anger flares. "I don't want you to get hurt!"

The bard stares back at him, mouth hanging open slightly, and then he looks down at his notebook. The salty scent of tears hits Geralt's nose again, and he bares his teeth in annoyance. "I'm sorry," Jaskier says, then takes the beer mug and puts it on the windowsill. "If you want to come along, be my guest."

Geralt sighs and rubs a hand over his face, then puts away his sword and the rag he uses for oiling it.

The walk to the privy is horribly uncomfortable, the silence oppressive. Geralt mumbles an, "I'll... wait over there," pointing at the shadows provided by the wall of the inn, and Jaskier all but slams the door behind him. Geralt sighs, scrubs both hands over his face, then goes to lean against the wall.

He gets it, Jaskier's anger. It's been simmering beneath the surface all day and bursts free at any given opportunity, and Geralt gets it. He knows there are people who feel at odds with the way their body is shaped, has met a few over the years. Some handled it fine, others suffered, and Jaskier falls squarely into the latter category.

Fuck, he can't imagine what it must feel like.

The privy door bangs open again after a while and Jaskier comes out, nose wrinkling. "You know, I think I prefer the woods," he says, walking over to a horse trough and plunging his hands inside. "I think my sense of smell is better than it used to be." He wrinkles his nose again, then shakes the water off his hands.

"Possible. Tends to be, for most women."

"Huh," Jaskier says. "The more you know." He grins, then loops his arm through Geralt's. "Well, would you escort me back to our lodgings, good sir?"

Geralt rolls his eyes, then tugs Jaskier along.

They have to pass through the common room again, which had been empty when they went down, but now there's a couple of patrons and the innkeeper, and Geralt doesn't miss the dirty looks directed their way. He's very aware of what they look like, with Jaskier looking the way he does, and, well. Him being who he is.

The Butcher and the fresh-faced girl on his arm.

Predictably, one of the men has apparently had a little too much liquid courage, and he leans back in his seat and squints at Jaskier. "Hey, you alright, missy?"

Jaskier looks behind himself, confused about who the man is talking to. Then he twitches, realising. "Oh, right, me. Yeah, I'm just _peachy_ , don't wor-" He smiles, a little strained, and Geralt can sense the moment he understands the motivation behind the question. 

Fuck.

"Jaskier," he starts, but the bard pulls his arm free and is across the room before Geralt can stop him. He's pointing an angry finger at the man, his cheeks flushed.

"If I were you I'd be _very_ careful about what you insinuate about my companion." He looks a hair's breadth away from punching the man, and Geralt sighs.

"Leave it," he says, and Jaskier whirls around, pointing at him now.

" _You_ stay out of this."

The man looks stunned, eyes flitting between them. They must make a right picture, the huge Witcher and the young woman who barely comes up to his chin, dressed in nothing but a shift, legs scandalously bare. And now said woman is ordering the Witcher around.

Jaskier turns back to the man and his compatriots. "Listen here, my friend, that's the famed White Wolf, and he has more honour in his _pinkie_ than all of you combined, so don't you dare imply that he'd hurt -" He cuts himself off, then grimaces and says, "helpless women."

"I wasn't implying-", the man starts, but Jaskier slaps a hand down on the table, narrowing his eyes.

" _Apologise_ ," he hisses, and the man's eyes flicker to Geralt.

"I'm sorry, s-sir," he stammers, "didn't mean no disrespect."

Geralt just nods, because he'll laugh if he opens his mouth. 

Jaskier straightens and puts his hands on his hips. Considering how short he is now, he manages to be quite intimidating anyway. "Really, I thought the people here had more sense than to believe baseless rumours! Asking if I'm alright, _honestly_." He shakes his head, his braid dancing left and right.

"Come on," Geralt says mildly, "leave them in peace." Jaskier glares one more time, then does as Geralt bid him, letting himself be corralled back to their room.

"I really thought my songs had managed to get rid of these ridiculous notions," he huffs as Geralt closes the door behind himself.

"Twenty years of songs aren't going to just erase centuries of prejudice, Jask."

Jaskier plops down on the bed again, crossing his arms. "Not if you continue to be such a sourpuss, scaring people off." He huffs again. "Ugh, another drawback to this apparently enhanced sense of smell? I can smell myself so much more than before. What I wouldn't give for a bath."

"There isn't one."

Jaskier glares, then lets himself topple back. "No shit." He closes his eyes, and Geralt sighs.

"Just go to sleep." He collects their mugs and plates and puts them outside the door, then pulls off his boots. Jaskier, meanwhile, has actually crawled up the bed and beneath the covers, facing the wall. Miracles upon miracles, Geralt thinks as he pulls his shirt over his head.

The candles are extinguished and he slides under the covers. The bed isn't particularly big, and he can feel Jaskier's body heat against his skin.

It's quiet for a long moment, and he half thinks Jaskier has already fallen asleep. He wouldn't be surprised, it's been a stressful day. But then Jaskier says, "Geralt?"

"Hm."

"Thank you."

Geralt swallows thickly. He'll never get used to Jaskier thanking him, considering how awful he treats him quite a lot of the time. "It's fine," he says quietly, "you don't have to thank me."

"Can you just accept me thanking you _once_ in your life? Gods." He shifts around a bit, then settles again. "Good night, Geralt."

"Night, Jaskier."

It takes them both a long time to actually fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Geralt wakes up with a boner, has a bunch of epiphanies about his attraction to Jaskier, and behaves like a complete jerk.

Geralt wakes up to a warm weight pressed against him. Not unusual, given how tactile the bard is. Geralt hasn't minded in a long time. On the contrary, it's become a welcome change from waking up cold and alone. He's even gotten used to Jaskier's soap-and-hair-oil scent, which used to be quite overwhelming in the beginning.

He looks down to see Jaskier drooling onto his chest, one arm flung over Geralt's stomach. He's warm, and soft, and smells so content and familiar, and Geralt feels his cock stir. _Fuck_.

Dislodging Jaskier is a task onto itself, and the fact that he's half hard doesn't help, but finally he manages to wriggle out of the bed without waking the bard. Jaskier sighs and curls up on his side in the spot Geralt just vacated, chasing his heat, and Geralt just watches him for a long moment. It's undeniably Jaskier, still, even in this female body. His face is a little softer, a little rounder, but his features haven't changed all that much, and it hits Geralt that he doesn't just find the bard attractive, he's _attracted_ to him. Has been for a while, actually, if he's honest with himself.

It's not just the tits, or the soft curves of his hips.

It's _Jaskier_.

"Fuck," Geralt hisses, pulls on his clothes and nearly runs out the door.

It's just starting to get light, and he heads for the stable. Roach pricks up her ears when he comes in, then gives him an unimpressed look.

"Sorry, girl," he says, standing by her box and ruffling her forelock. "No apples today." 

She snorts and lets herself be petted for a while, and the familiar motion calms Geralt. Realising he wants his friend, wants to know what he tastes and feels like... It has unmoored him, somewhat.

Fuck, he doesn't even know if Jaskier would be _interested_ in him like that. True, the bard is a very sexual being, which led to this current problem, but... Would he want _Geralt_? Jaskier nearly always smells slightly of lust, so figuring that out is... difficult, to say the least.

There's a couple of reasons why Geralt doesn't form attachments, usually, and this is one of them. Humans are so fucking _confusing_.

He returns to their room once the sun has risen properly. Jaskier is still asleep, now sprawling on his stomach on the bed, limbs spread out and nose buried in a pillow.

Geralt's pillow.

He quietly closes the door behind himself and leans against it, breathing deeply. The room smells a little stale, of many people beneath the dominant scent of dust and old wood, but right now, it smells of them. His own smell, leather and horse, pine from the soap Jaskier gifted him and the light undercurrent of petrichor that comes with magic, and Jaskier's, mostly unchanged: lavender soap and citrus-sweet hair oil, sweat and the baseline scent of his skin. The only thing that is different is the scent of his sex, and Geralt closes his eyes and tries to block it out.

Jaskier stirs after a moment, rolls to his back, groans and stretches as he wakes up. The shift pools in his lap as he pulls up his knees, arching, and Geralt looks away.

"Morning," Jaskier says, voice thick with sleep still, then rolls to his side, blinking sleepily up at him. "Why are you over there?"

"Woke up early," he rumbles. "Checked on Roach."

"Hmm." Jaskier curls up on his side again, hugs the pillow to him. "Come back to bed," he murmurs, "it's too early to be up."

Geralt wants to. He always wants that, when they have enough coin to get a room somewhere, wants to bask in the comforts of having a bed and a roof over their heads, wants to let Jaskier bathe and pamper him. Wants to fall asleep by his side, wants to wake up with the bard cuddled up to him. Yes, Jaskier drives him crazy, with his constant noise and how he has such a unique talent for getting himself into trouble, but he has gotten so used to him.

Alright, 'used to him' may be a bit of an understatement, now that he thinks about it.

"Should get up," he says, trying to distract himself from that particular line of thinking.

Jaskier groans and hugs the pillow tighter. "Why? Clothes won't be ready until noon."

"I need to go buy supplies." He could. He needs a couple of things, really.

"Or," Jaskier counters, rolling to his back, pillow still clutched to his chest, "you could come over here and keep me warm a little longer."

It's not meant to sound the way it does, he thinks. Although, considering it's Jaskier, it just might. The shift is still pooled in his lap, barely covering him.

He grunts and pushes himself away from the door. Crosses the room in two strides, grabs the hem of Jaskier's shift and tugs it down. Jaskier squeaks and bats at his hand with the pillow.

"What the _fuck_ , Geralt?" He glares up at him, and Geralt turns away.

"I'm going out," he says, "I'll have them bring you some breakfast." He grabs his bag and swords on the way out, not looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more angry Jaskier, the C word, references to masturbation, Geralt wrestling with his feelings and trying not to think with his dick, Geralt putting both of his feet in his mouth and saying something truly hurtful with intent, and Jaskier crying himself to sleep.
> 
> I know Geralt uses the same term to refer to Jaskier in an earlier chapter without ill effect but here he uses it to hurt.

They don't talk about it.

When Geralt returns, a bag full of roots and mushrooms slung over his shoulder, Jaskier sits on the bed, cross legged and with his back to the door. He's writing furiously in his notebook and ignores Geralt when he comes in.

Geralt empties his bag and sorts through his things. The room is silent except for the scratching of Jaskier's pen and the crackling of the fire, and Geralt decides to play along and lets the silence linger.

It's not as welcome as he would have thought it would be.

Right around noon, there's a knock on the door, and when Geralt opens it, there's a young boy informing him that the clothes are ready, and he gives him a copper and sends him on his way.

"Clothes are done," he says, the first thing he's said since he left in the morning.

Jaskier sniffs and puts his pen back into his notebook before snapping it shut. "Yes, I heard, my ears are actually in working order."

His cheeks are ruddy, and he smells angry. He also looks... a mess, really. Half of his hair escaped from his braid during the night, and his eyes are red. Probably from crying. "Want me to help you with your hair?"

Jaskier... twitches. A full-body twitch, as though he was scared or surprised. After a moment he says, "If you want to."

Geralt breathes, then sits on the bed behind him. It takes a little longer this time, with the hair a little tangled from being slept on. "Do you want to cut it," he asks when he has worked most of the knots out, and Jaskier reaches back and pats at the long strands.

"No, I... I kind of like it. And it'll be gone in a few days anyway."

"Hm." Geralt waits until Jaskier has taken back his hand, then he quickly twists the hair back into a braid. "You'd look good with longer hair," he says, and Jaskier goes very still.

 _Fuck_. Why did he say that?

"Thank you," Jaskier says softly, and then he slips off the bed and into his shoes. "Let's go."

The seamstress has apparently worked overtime, or she had some things on hand that would fit Jaskier, as she hands him not only his altered trousers but also a new chemise and another shift, this one a little longer. Jaskier makes a face for half a second but takes it anyway, and when he gets dressed behind the screen, he makes such a sound of relief that Geralt can't quite contain his smile.

The trousers sit well on his hips now, and the new chemise isn't quite as tight. When he comes out from behind the screen, he smiles widely and sketches a little bow. "I shall forever be in your debt, mylady," he says, and the woman laughs.

"Coin will do, dearie," she says, then pulls something out from under the table. "Also, have this. On the house."

It's a velvet ribbon, no doubt a rarity in a village as small as this. A treasure. Jaskier knows this, too. "I can't accept that."

"Oh, sure you can! Complements your eyes, doesn't it, sir Witcher?"

Geralt freezes, then looks between the ribbon and Jaskier. The ribbon is cornflower blue.

"Hmm," he says after a moment, and Jaskier ducks his head.

"Come here, dearie, let me," and she walks to stand behind Jaskier, takes hold of his braid and ties the ribbon into a bow around the hair tie Geralt had used earlier.

It looks... pretty.

 _Fuck_.

They head back to their room, where Jaskier shoves the extra clothes into his pack. "Want to have lunch before we leave?"

They're served venison stew, with day-old bread. Jaskier brings a spoon to his mouth, then makes a face. "Needs salt."

He reaches across the table for the salt, across Geralt's bowl, and he huffs in annoyance. Which turns out to be a mistake. Because the bard's fingers... Underneath the scent of soap and the bread he just touched, the bard's fingers smell like his cunt.

It shouldn't surprise Geralt. Jaskier was alone for hours. It's only natural that he would take the opportunity to explore his new shape. He's also smelled his spend on his fingers more times than he can count.

And yet.

"What's wrong? You look like someone pissed in your stew." Jaskier is shaving some salt into his bowl without really looking, and Geralt tries not to look at his hands. Tries not to breathe too deeply.

"I look different when that happens," he says after a moment, and Jaskier frowns.

"What do you mean, _when_? Do people actually-" Geralt nods, and Jaskier makes a choking noise, then gags. "Oh gods, that's _foul_ , what the fuck is _wrong_ with people?!"

Geralt just shrugs. "Eat, then we leave."

They make good time, and when they set up camp that evening, Geralt says, "We should make it to Vengerberg in three, maybe four days."

"Oh thank fuck," Jaskier groans, dropping the firewood he has collected into a heap. "I can't wait to be me again."

"You're always you," he says, quietly, and Jaskier snorts.

" _I_ don't have tits, do I?" Jaskier yawns, stretches and looks down at himself. Then he cups his breasts with both hands, squeezing gently. "Although I do suppose they're nice tits."

Geralt does not run away. He's going to catch them some dinner. That's all.

When he returns with two rabbits, Jaskier has finished setting up the camp, with a fire going and their bedrolls laid out. They sit by the fire and each skin a rabbit, and the silence isn't as oppressive as it could be. It's... friendly. Familiar.

They eat, and when they're done, Jaskier yawns again. "I am thoroughly knackered, I'm going to bed."

Geralt doesn't know why he says it. The words just spill out of him. After decades of travelling with Jaskier, he's started doing that around the bard. "Want me to keep you warm?"

Jaskier sits quietly for a moment, and his face does something complicated that Geralt can't interpret. Then he rolls his eyes and turns away, crawling over to his bedroll. "You, my friend, are turning into a regular jokester."

"Suit yourself then, but don't complain to me when you get cold." Something petty bites at him then, and he adds, "Women feel the cold more, I've been told."

Jaskier, halfway through sliding into the bedroll, stills.

Shit.

"I'm _not_ a woman," Jaskier says, so quietly even Geralt has to strain a little to hear him. Then he crawls the rest of the way into his bedroll, rolls so his back is to Geralt, and starts crying silently.

 _Fuck_ and _shit_.

"Jaskier," he starts, but the bard just curls up tighter. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Jaskier ignores him, and cries himself to sleep.

For Geralt, sleep remains elusive for a long time. He keeps berating himself for his big mouth, for his lack of tact. He knows how hard this is for Jaskier, and he goes straight for the weak spot? What kind of a friend is he?

 _A pretty shitty one_ , he thinks with a long look at Jaskier's still form.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more fighting, Geralt punching a wild dog, the boys making up, Yennefer laughing her ass off

The next day is miserable. Jaskier doesn't talk to him past the absolute necessities of travel, and by the time they reach the next village that evening, Geralt is _this_ close to losing it.

Jaskier gets them a room at the admittedly pretty shabby inn, and he stomps upstairs without waiting for Geralt. Fine then. He heads back outside, breathes for a few moments. It's still about an hour until sundown, and he heads into the woods. He needs to find something to beat up before he does something stupid.

He finds a couple of wild dogs roaming close by, and because he's _really_ reckless sometimes, he _punches_ one, and then keeps punching it, before finally drawing his sword and dispatching the whole pack. Standing there, sword in hand, breathing hard and dripping with sweat and blood, he feels calmer than he has in days.

The sun is just dipping below the horizon when he returns to the village, and he's only a little surprised to find the inn brightly lit and packed to the rafters, noise wafting out the open windows. It takes him a moment to locate underneath all the voices but then he recognises the familiar strumming of a lute, and then Jaskier's voice. It's higher and feels at odds with the bawdy song he's singing, but the different range doesn't seem to affect his performance much.

Geralt pushes his way into the room and into a dark corner, settles in to watch. Jaskier is clearly in his element, whipping the crowd into a frenzy with one lewd song after another. He's sweaty and glowing and smiling so widely, it makes Geralt's cheeks ache.

And just like that he realises that he misses Jaskier, the _real_ Jaskier. This version is pretty and soft, undoubtedly physically appealing, but he's... unhappy.

And besides, Jaskier is _always_ pretty.

 _Hmm_.

At some point Jaskier segues into quieter songs, ballads and love songs, and Geralt has to admit the high voice suits those particularly well. It should be difficult to adapt to such a sudden change, he thinks, but Jaskier managing doesn't surprise him at all.

It's fully dark out by the time Jaskier winds down, and the inn empties out soon after that. The bard spots him in his corner, ale and food in front of him, and after a second's hesitation he walks over and plops himself down on the bench beside the Witcher.

Geralt pushes the plate in front of him wordlessly, and Jaskier's eyes flicker over to him for a second.

"Thank you," he says at length, picking at the bread, and Geralt sighs.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have said that, it was a low blow."

"Damn right it was." He sounds bitter, but some tension drains out of him, and he starts eating. "How'd you like my singing," he asks after a while, gesturing at the room. "I'm not quite sure I got all the notes right, this voice goes so much higher than I'm used to."

"Sounded good to me," he murmurs into his ale, not missing the way Jaskier's gaze cuts to him, and so he adds, "You always do."

Jaskier stiffens, then smiles, although he tries to hide it behind a piece of bread. "High praise, my friend."

"Just telling the truth."

It's easier, after that. They fall back into their familiar routine, and when he wakes up the next day, it's again to find Jaskier firmly attached to his side, the clearest indicator that he has been forgiven.

They do make it to Vengerberg in the promised three days, and from there they quickly make their way to Yennefer's shop. The sorceress has her nose buried in a book and holds up a finger as they enter, the signal to wait while she finishes, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

When Yennefer is done, she closes the book before looking up. At first she smiles at seeing Geralt, but then she spots Jaskier and her expression curdles slightly.

"Geralt! Long time no see. Who's your friend?" She says _friend_ the same way someone else would say _tumor_.

"Hullo, Yennefer," Jaskier says with faux cheerfulness, waving a little, and Yen narrows her eyes.

"Do I know you?"

Geralt rubs a hands over his face. "It's Jaskier, Yen. He's been cursed."

Yen looks back and forth between them, her eyes growing wide, and then she starts laughing. Jaskier grunts, and pouts some more, and crosses his arms in front of him.

"Right, stay on brand and laugh at my misfortune," he grumbles, and Yennefer actually tries to stifle her laughter. She's mostly successful, until she looks at Jaskier again, and then she starts cackling again. Jaskier turns his back on her and kicks a stack of books. "I knew coming here was a bad idea."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, becoming exasperated. Jaskier isn't wrong, but it's their only option. He turns to Yen again, who is breathing deeply in an effort to stop laughing.

"I do applogise, that was... very unprofessional of me."

"It was indeed."

Yen clears her throat and steeples her fingers on the table in front of her. "I assume you want to know how to lift it."

" _Please_ , enlighten us."

"Stop, Jaskier," Geralt growls. He's just about had it with their weird antagonistic relationship. "We need her help, do you think annoying her is going to make her want to do that?"

Jaskier shrugs and frowns, but at least he stays silent.

"Could you have a look," Geralt asks Yennefer, and the sorceress cocks her head to the side.

"Sure, why not. This is _extremely_ entertaining."

Jaskier is directed to a chair in the back room, and Yennefer stands behind him, her hands glowing with her chaos as she examines the curse. It doesn't take long, and when she drops her hands, she leans against a table.

"Let me guess, jealous spouse?" Jaskier nods, and Yennefer hums. "That explains it. It's a pretty simple curse, really. Not hard to lift at all, I think its main purpose is to teach you a lesson. Although I'm not sure it's going to be all that successful."

"What do we have to do," Geralt asks, and Jaskier tenses in anticipation. Yennefer smiles.

"You'll have to let someone fuck you," Yen says, looking at Jaskier, and Geralt groans quietly.

"What?!" Jaskier has turned beet red. "In case you missed it, I'm a man!"

Yen shrugs. "I know for a fact that you don't just partake in female company."

"That's- That's _different_!"

"Oh please." She waves a hand. "If you can take it up the arse, you'll survive getting fucked one time."

Geralt would very much like to _not_ be a part of this conversation.

"The other option is staying like this," Yen continues over Jaskier's outraged sputtering, "and you've made it quite clear you don't want that."

Jaskier sags into his chair, all the fight going out of him all at once. He looks miserable again when he fists his hands into his trousers. "Well. I guess I'll have to go find myself some dashing lad to-" He chokes on the words, breathes deeply, then continues bitterly, "to give my _virginity_ to."

Yennefer gives Geralt a long look at this, and he blinks uncomprehendingly a few times. It's not until she nods rather forcefully in Jaskier's direction that he understands.

Fuck.

"Good luck with that," Yen says, and her voice has softened somewhat. "It'll turn out alright, Jaskier. Doesn't it always for you?"

Jaskier snorts a laugh, and Geralt squeezes his shoulder. "It has a weird tendency to do that, doesn't it?"

They leave Yen in her shop, but not before she takes Geralt aside for a moment, glaring fiercely at him.

"You did understand what I was trying to convey, right?"

"Yes, I'm not an idiot, Yen."

She snorts and flips her hair over her shoulder. "Allow me to disagree with you there." She huffs. "Don't let him search out some bumbling stable boy for this, Geralt. He's annoying as shit and I don't like him, yes, but I don't _actually_ want him traumatised."

"That's very considerate of you." He means it. He didn't expect this from Yennefer, not when it comes to Jaskier.

She rolls her eyes, then grins at him. There's an odd edge to the grin. "I can afford to be considerate. I'm not the one who has to fuck him."

 _Shit_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Jaskier has feelings about how to break the curse and confesses some things. Geralt is baffled.

Jaskier is outside, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the dirt. He looks... even more miserable, if such a thing is possible, and when Geralt approaches, he wipes at his eyes angrily.

"Well," he says with false cheerfulness, "guess I better take myself off to a tavern, then! Shouldn't be hard to find a volunteer there," and he grimaces, then turns around and kicks over a flowerpot in an explosive fit of anger. " _Fuck_! Fucking _shit_!"

"Jaskier, calm down," Geralt says, and Jaskier rounds on him and punches him straight on the nose. It's not a particularly hard punch, and it probably hurts Jaskier more than him, if the way his face contorts is any indication.

"Don't tell me to fucking _calm down_ ," he yells, shaking his hand. "I think I have a right to be angry!"

Geralt prods at his nose gingerly. "Are you though?" At Jaskier's blank look, he adds, "Are you angry?"

Jaskier turns red again. "Of course I'm fucking angry! Couldn't that man just tell me to go get fucked? Did he have to make it so bloody _literal_?"

"I don't think you're angry," Geralt says quietly, and Jaskier recoils ever so slightly. "I think you're scared."

Jaskier looks back at him, eyes still wet. "Of course I'm _scared_ ," he says quietly, turning away and looking at his shoes, and there's a painful twinge in Geralt's chest. "I'm scared out of my mind, Geralt. What if it doesn't work? And then the whole-" He makes a face. "The whole _process_! I love sex, you know that, and I know that women experience pleasure, that it feels good to get fucked, but-" He shakes his head, braid swinging side to side on his back. "That doesn't make me any less terrified of it."

Geralt takes a deep breath. "You don't have to go find yourself some stranger to fuck you and hope for the best."

Jaskier barks a laugh. "What, are you _volunteering_? Think you can fuck this out of me?"

"If I have to." He grits his teeth after he's said it, and Jaskier throws up his hands.

"Wow, you really couldn't make fucking me sound _more_ like a hardship if you tried." He grimaces, and Geralt winces. It did come out kind of harsh.

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, that's what it sounded like!" Jaskier trembles, again, his fists shaking by his sides. "I can handle this on my own, thank you very much." And he turns his back on Geralt and stomps off.

"Jaskier! Fuck's sake, wait!"

Jaskier doesn't. Instead he picks up the pace, strides lengthening. He smells like fury and tears and Geralt wrinkles his nose at the sharp scent. "I _don't_ need your help, Geralt," he barks as he rounds a corner, and Geralt growls and runs after him.

"Why do you always have to make everything so damn difficult," he hisses, and Jaskier stops and whirls around.

" _I'm_ the difficult one?! _Me_?" He laughs harshly. "I beg your forgiveness for being _a bit miffed_ that the only time my supposed best friend, who I have been not very subtly flirting with for twenty years, shows _any_ interest in fucking me is when I'm turned into a bloody _woman_!" He's shouting by the end, and Geralt stares down at him.

"What do you mean, you've been flirting with me?"

Jaskier stares back at him, then turns to face the house they're standing next to. He places his palms flat against the wall, steps closer, and then thumps his forehead against it a couple of times before Geralt can intervene.

"Hey, stop that, you'll hurt yourself," he admonishes, pushing his palm between Jaskier's head and the wall. Jaskier just... lets him, resting his forehead against his hand.

"I'm such an idiot," he murmurs, and Geralt open his mouth to object. "No, really, I'm so _stupid_. I thought you knew and just didn't want to acknowledge it."

"Knew what?" Geralt feels that something monumental is happening, something important, but he has no clue what that is. He suspects, yes, but...

Jaskier turns, head still pressed against his palm. "I've been trying to get into your pants for ages, Geralt. Been in love with you almost as long."

What.

"You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm really fucking serious, believe me."

Geralt stares down at him. He can hear his blood roaring in his ears. "Jaskier," he says after a moment. His throat feels raw. "Do you want me to fuck you?" It's not the question he wants to ask, not really, but it's all he can focus on right now.

Jaskier turns away. Looks down at his shoes. "I don't want you to fuck me just to break this curse. I don't want you to want me just because I have tits and a cunt now."

"That's not-"

"Isn't it?" Jaskier looks up at him. There are tears clinging to his eyelashes. "In all the time we've known each other, you _never_ showed even a hint of interest in me. Not once. Instead you fucked Yennefer and Triss and courtesans and even Essi and Shani, for fuck's sake. You never, _ever_ reacted in any way to my blatant, increasingly desperate flirting, except with annoyance. Why should I believe that you're not just interested in getting your dick wet, and that helping me is a side effect?"

Geralt doesn't have an answer to that. Because Jaskier is right. He never showed any interest in him, even though he always appreciated the other's beauty. "I didn't know," he says after a long, awkward silence.

"That's obvious." Jaskier kicks the wall, just a tap of his shoe really. "Would it have changed anything if I'd told you," he asks, not looking at him.

"I don't know. Maybe." He reaches for Jaskier then, gently, turns him to face him with a hand on his shoulder. "But I still want to help you, Jask."

"I could just find a brothel," he says, stubborn as always. "Would be a bit hard to explain, but whatever."

"You don't have to do that."

"Well, maybe I _want_ to," the bard hisses, but his eyes are wet again, and Geralt tugs him forward and against his chest. Jaskier resists for half a second, then he melts against him and throws his arms around Geralt's waist. "I just want this to be _over_ ," he whispers against Geralt's armour, and Geralt squeezes his shoulders gently.

"Then let me help you."

Finally, after what feels like eons, Jaskier nods.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the sex.
> 
> This got _stupidly long_ because I absolutely did not want to rush this so I split it up. I also updated the tags because I'm dumb and forgot some things.
> 
> Warning: Jaskier is very unhappy, then not, and the C word is used a lot. Vaginal fingering happens.

They walk back to the inn they're staying at in silence. Jaskier smells like misery and, for the first time since Geralt has known him, _fear_. Fear of what they have to do.

Fear of _him_.

Geralt very badly wants to punch something.

When the door has closed behind them, Jaskier sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders pulled up, his whole body stiff and tense. Geralt closes his eyes for a moment, leaning against the door. It's easier to say what he wants to say if he doesn't look at Jaskier.

"How do you want to do this?"

Jaskier laughs, sharp and abortive, entirely devoid of humour. "How about 'not at all'." Geralt grunts, and Jaskier sighs deeply. "I don't know. Just... be careful?"

 _Fuck_.

He opens his eyes again. Jaskier is still sitting just as stiffly, hands fisted in his trousers. Gods, what Geralt wouldn't give to not be in this room.

Silently, he peels off his armour and sets it in a corner. Jaskier watches, just as silent. He tenses even more when Geralt walks to the bed and sits beside him.

Finally Geralt asks, "Can I... Can I kiss you? It'll help you relax."

"That really isn't necessary," Jaskier says, looking anywhere but at Geralt. He's blushing hard now, fingers white-knuckled around the fabric of his trousers.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jaskier. But that's what will happen if we don't-" He clears his throat because, _fuck_ , this is awkward. "Get you ready," he finally chokes out, and Jaskier groans and turns away. He flops back onto the bed and grabs a pillow, hiding his face in it.

"Just kill me," he mumbles into the pillow, "kill me and be _done_ with it."

"Jaskier," he says, softly, and Jaskier rolls away, pulls his knees up to his chest, and starts sobbing.

Geralt _hates_ it. He hates seeing his friend hurt like this, hates that he's afraid, of him, of what has to happen. Most of all he hates the man who did this to Jaskier. Hates him for forcing them into this.

He lies down behind Jaskier and winds an arm around him, pulls him against his chest. Lets him cry. After a while, Jaskier's breath hiccups and he sniffles, the tears drying up, and he wipes at his face. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and Geralt kisses the back of his neck.

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for," he says. "I understand."

"Do you?"

A heavy pause, then he says, "No, probably not."

Jaskier wipes his face on his sleeve, then turns in Geralt's hold. Looks at him with wide, watery blue eyes. Then he leans forward and kisses him.

He tastes like ale and tears, and Geralt hates that this will be the first memory he has of kissing Jaskier.

The bard pulls back after a moment, licking his lips. Then he pushes against Geralt's shoulder, gently, not to push him away but to tell him to lie on his back, and Geralt obeys. Jaskier smiles weakly, and climbs into Geralt's lap and resumes kissing him.

Geralt lets him take the lead. He's kissing back and places his hands on Jaskier's knees, but aside from that, he lies back and lets Jaskier do as he pleases. Slowly, the tension seeps out of Jaskier, his body becoming more pliant, and just as slowly, hints of arousal seep into his scent.

After a long while Jaskier pulls back and sits up, shrugging off his doublet and tossing it at a chair. He looks down at Geralt thoughtfully, then says, "You can touch me, if you like."

Geralt... hesitates. He _wants_ to touch Jaskier, wants to make this good for him and not just something he has to grit his teeth to get through. But a small part of him wants Jaskier to want it, and that stills his hands for a moment.

Jaskier's face twists, and Geralt thinks, _fuck it_. He strokes his hands up Jaskier's thighs, to his hips and waist, draws circles into his flesh with his thumbs. Jaskier hums and leans down again, goes back to kissing him.

They drift like that for a time, trading kisses and simple, almost shy touches. Somehow, it's easier from there. Jaskier seems to find his courage, sitting up again and, with a deep breath, pulling his chemise up and over his head. Like this, his cunt is pressed against Geralt's cock, and Geralt hisses.

Jaskier smirks, a flicker of his usual cockiness, and rolls his hips.

" _Fuck_ , Jaskier."

Tentatively, Geralt touches his stomach, slides a hand up, between his breasts. Looks askance at Jaskier and, when he nods, thumbs at a nipple. It hardens under his touch. Jaskier's breath shudders out of him, and his thighs clench around Geralt's hips for a second.

"Alright?" Jaskier nods, and Geralt brings up his other hand, gently cups both breasts. "You need me to stop anything I'm doing, you tell me."

"Yes, yes, I do know how _consent_ works." Jaskier rolls his eyes, and Geralt purses his lips and carefully squeezes both nipples between thumb and forefinger. Jaskier twitches. "Mean," he murmurs, but he pushes into Geralt's touch.

They continue like this, slow and gently exploring. Jaskier tugs at Geralt's shirt after a while, and Geralt sits up and pulls it over his head. They're chest to chest like this, and it feels natural to wrap an arm around Jaskier and pull him closer. To kiss him, from his lips down his throat, to a shoulder.

He's growing hard between them, and Jaskier is furnace hot and wet against him.

They kick off their boots and trousers, and Jaskier flushes when he sees Geralt's cock. He's seen it hundreds of times, Geralt knows, with the way the bard likes to help him bathe, but never like this. Never hard, never when it's about to go _inside of him_ , and he hooks a finger under Jaskier's chin and tilts his head back to meet his eyes.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," and he almost sounds convincing.

"We'll go slow," Geralt says softly, "there's no rush." He may lack the pretty words to talk about feelings and fears, but this, this he knows, knows how to treat a lover right.

He lies back on the bed again and gently tugs Jaskier astride him. The bard's heart is racing, and Geralt rubs his thighs softly. Jaskier takes a deep breath. " _Fuck_ , I'm scared, Geralt."

"I know." He can smell it, the room saturated with a mixture of that fear and simmering arousal, and it's making him feel a little sick. "Come here." He tilts his chin, and Jaskier leans down and kisses him again. They're pressed together chest to hip, and Geralt can feel the wet heat of Jaskier's cunt, so close to his cock. He twitches at the thought, and Jaskier flinches. "Jask?"

"I'm fine, that just... felt weird."

"Good or bad weird?"

"... Good." His face is twisted, like he's debating whether or not it really felt good. Geralt inches his hands up a little on his thighs.

"Can I...?" He keeps his gaze firmly on Jaskier's face as he asks, and Jaskier's lips thin when he nods.

Calling the speed of his movements slow would be one hell of an understatement. He feels like he's barely moving at all, hands sliding up Jaskier's thighs a millimetre at a time until he reaches his hips. Jaskier... _trembles_.

Geralt splays his fingers wide, his thumbs rubbing circles into his sides, the fingers resting on the swell of Jaskier's arse.

Jaskier sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. "Feels nice," he murmurs. He's still not relaxed, but they're getting there.

"Good."

The Witcher continues like this, small touches, always so gentle. He strokes along Jaskier's back, traces the line of his spine, and Jaskier shivers.

Finally, he slides a hand between Jaskier's thighs, giving him every chance to pull away, to change his mind.

Jaskier arches his back and pushes into the touch with a soft sigh, and Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead.

The bard is hot and soft and wet, his body reacting to Geralt's touch despite any reservations Jaskier may still have. Geralt bites the inside of his cheek. "Tell me if anything hurts," he says, then slowly strokes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier. The bard jolts, then gives a breathy little sigh that makes arousal flare hot and demanding in Geralt's gut.

It doesn't take Jaskier long at all to start wriggling, to unconsciously search pressure where he needs it, and Geralt swipes his fingers down until he finds the little bundle of nerves. Jaskier gasps, then moans. "Oh gods, that's-" He gasps again, pushes back against Geralt's hand. "Oh, that's _good_."

Geralt smiles against his hair.

Jaskier keeps rocking against his fingers on his clitoris, and on one downwards roll of his hips, Geralt's thumb breaches him quite by accident. The bard tosses his head, eyes flying open. "Fucking-"

"Does it hurt," Geralt asks softly, when Jaskier holds still, trembling slightly.

"Quite the contrary, my dear Witcher," he breathes, and then he starts moving again. The thumb isn't the digit Geralt would've picked but Jaskier seems happy enough, judging by the breathy little gasps that fall from his lips. "Fuck, I had no idea it felt _this_ good."

The bard continues to fuck himself on Geralt's thumb for a while, and Geralt is really just along for the ride. At some point Jaskier demands, "More, Geralt, I need-", and Geralt exchanges his thumb for two fingers. Jaskier shudders and makes a garbled sort of noise, and Geralt gentles him with a hand on his flank.

"You're doing so good, Jask," he murmurs, and Jaskier laughs.

"Oh, I'm doing _more_ than good, dear," he says, and then he tilts his head up and grins at Geralt. His pupils are blown wide, and he leans forward and kisses Geralt. Then he pushes his hips down and _rubs himself against Geralt's cock_ , and the Witcher forgets how to breathe for a moment.

"Tease," he murmurs, and Jaskier laughs again.

"You figured that out already?" He smirks, and presses down again, and Geralt retaliates with the tip of a third finger. Jaskier goes taut as a bowstring, eyes squeezed shut. " _Oh fuck_ , why do your fingers have to be so _stupidly_ big?"

He doesn't complain further when Geralt slowly works that finger all the way in, breath coming in short gasps that speak of an impending orgasm. "Go on, Jask," he murmurs, and Jaskier arches his back, pushes his arse up higher, and shoves a hand between them, fingers rubbing furiously, if unpractised, at his clitoris.

"Oh gods, _oh fuck, Geralt_ ," and then he screams into Geralt's chest, hips twitching as he comes, cunt gripping unbearably tight around Geralt's fingers.

 _Fuck_. Geralt is leaking, the fact that he is bringing such pleasure to his bard enough to bring his brain to a screeching halt. Atop him, Jaskier is panting, trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm, his forehead pressed against Geralt's breastbone.

"Fuck," he gasps, then lifts his head to look at Geralt. His face is flushed, lips shining with spit, and he smiles, lazily in his post-orgasmic haze.

"Good?" Geralt can't help but smirk, rather pleased with himself, and Jaskier slaps his side gently.

"Don't go fishing for compliments, it's unbecoming." Then he giggles. "But if you must know, yes, _very_ good."

Geralt smiles, and crooks his fingers, slowly, watches how the smile melts off of Jaskier's face as his eyes flutter closed. Something hot and hungry pulses in his chest, and he asks, "Again?"

The bard sucks in a breath and bites his lip. Then he nods.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: penis in vagina sex, more feelings, the beginnings of Jaskier's transformation

Slowly, carefully, Geralt takes back his fingers, Jaskier's breath catching as they slide out of him. Then, free arm wound around the bard, Geralt rolls them over, leaning down to kiss Jaskier again in the same motion. Jaskier's heart skips, then speeds up, and his arms wind around Geralt's neck, holding him close as he sucks on Geralt's lower lip.

The angle is better in this position, and Jaskier moans when Geralt pushes two fingers back into him, thumb gentle on his clitoris. "You're enjoying this an awful lot," the bard gasps against his lips, no venom in his voice. Geralt kisses a line down his jaw, sucks at the soft skin below his ear.

"Why wouldn't I enjoy being the one to make you make these noises?" With that, he crooks his fingers again, pushing against the soft spot behind Jaskier's pubic bone, and Jaskier gives a cry, nails digging into Geralt's shoulders.

That same heat that had made him ask if Jaskier wanted more of this pulses inside him again, and he nips at Jaskier's earlobe and says, "I've always enjoyed the sounds you make when you're getting fucked."

Jaskier's eyes fly open, his heart skipping again. "You heard-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "inn walls are thin. Of course I heard."

The bard blushes crimson. "Oh," he says, cunt twitching around Geralt's fingers. "That's- _Well_. I didn't think about that. Sorry, I guess." He's looking to the side, nibbling on his lower lip, and Geralt kisses his jaw.

"Don't be. I liked it," and it's true. He hadn't realised how attracted he was to the man, but hearing him moan and pant and scream as he was getting fucked had, oddly, _always_ been something Geralt enjoyed.

Now, Jaskier looks up at him from the corner of his eye, clearly not believing a word he's saying. "But I'm a man."

"And?"

"You don't fuck men."

Geralt holds his gaze, scissors his fingers ever so slightly. Jaskier gasps, eyelids fluttering. "I'm about to, am I not?"

" _Fuck_ ," Jaskier hisses, nails biting into Geralt's shoulders. "Alright, I never thought I'd ever say this, but enough talking. Get in me _right the fuck now_."

Geralt's eyes slip closed. "Jaskier," he groans, hips twitching against the mattress, "are you sure?"

The bard swats him on the back of his neck. "Are you actually serious? Get the oil from my pack and _fuck me_ , Witcher."

Well. Who is he to say no to that?

He leans down and presses a kiss to Jaskier's stomach as he pulls his fingers free carefully. Jaskier hisses and arches his back, and when Geralt moves off the bed to fetch the oil, the bard squeezes his eyes shut and slides his own hand between his legs. His breath leaves him in a rush. " _Fuck_."

"What's wrong?" He halts, halfway back across the room again to check when Jaskier's face breaks into a smile.

"Nothing, I just..." He blinks up at Geralt with hazy eyes. "I didn't realise how wet I am." And then he spreads his legs wider, lets Geralt _see_.

There's suddenly not enough air in the room, or at least that what it feels like. Jaskier has two fingers inside himself, his eyes fluttering shut as he presses the heel of his hand against his mound. The noise that bursts out of Geralt is not quite human, and Jaskier makes a high, keening sound in reply.

Within seconds Geralt has crossed to where their packs are, and he picks up Jaskier's and just upends everything in it onto the floor. The vial of oil was at the very bottom, and he picks it up and is back on the bed in a flash. Jaskier blinks up at him, lip caught between his teeth.

Then he pulls his hand away from between his thighs. His fingers are wet, glistening in the light, and for a breathless second they both stare at them. Then Jaskier holds his hand up, wriggles them in Geralt's direction.

Geralt's cock jumps as he understands, and the grin Jaskier gives him when the Witcher leans forward and sucks his fingers into his mouth is absolutely wicked. " _Gods_ , Geralt, if you could see your face," he breathes as Geralt sucks his fingers clean. When he's done, he leans down and kisses Jaskier, licks into his mouth, and the bard whimpers as he tastes himself in the kiss. "In, in, come _on_ ," he gasps, hips twitching, and Geralt uncorks the vial.

The glide of the oil over his cock, combined with the hungry look in Jaskier's eyes, is almost enough to undo him. He closes his eyes and breathes, to stave off the urgency. When he opens them again, Jaskier has his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes half-lidded and pupils wide. "Jaskier," he says, and his voices trembles, and Jaskier's eyes slip closed.

Geralt moves between his thighs, holds himself steady. "Do it," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt pushes forward slowly.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Jaskier is unbelievably tight, and so wet that, despite the tension in his core, Geralt slides right in with barely any resistance. He grunts, holding himself still with effort, and underneath him, Jaskier makes a soft, mewling noise. Then his hands are on Geralt's shoulders, and he lifts his thighs, and just like that, they are pressed flush together and all Geralt knows is _tighthotwet **Jaskie** rfuck_.

The bard gasps, his head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. He's shaking like a leaf, but he doesn't smell distressed or like he's in pain. "You alright?" Geralt forces the question out through clenched teeth, and Jaskier's fingers twitch against the slope of his shoulders.

"Move," he whispers, voice tight, and before Geralt can object, he winds his legs around Geralt's waist and rocks against him.

"Jaskier." Geralt reaches, blindly, grabs hold of the bard's hip to keep him still. "Stop, you'll hurt yourself-"

Jaskier's eyes fly open. He's flushed and sweaty and his eyes are nearly black. The heel of one foot digs into Geralt's back. "I said, _move_."

Geralt obeys. What other choice does he have? He pulls back, slowly, watching Jaskier for signs of discomfort, breathes him in for any hint of pain. Instead of either, Jaskier's face relaxes more and more with every careful thrust, until he looks entirely lost to the pleasure of it, until he starts making the sweetest sounds, breathy little gasps that turn into moans when Geralt changes the angle slightly.

"Fuck, if I had known this is what it feels like- _ah_!- I would've jumped you that first day in the woods," he says, and Geralt leans down and kisses him, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Jaskier's arms tighten around his neck. When Jaskier has to come up for air, he throws back his head and moans, loud and unashamed. Then he says, "Faster," and Geralt is lost.

He ruts into Jaskier, fast, short strokes that have the bard clawing at his shoulders and punch breathy " _Ah, ah, ah_ " sounds out of him. At some point, Jaskier lifts his hips, pulls on Geralt's back, as if he wants him closer somehow when they're already plastered together from chest to hip.

"Geralt," he whines, pushes his hips against the Witcher, and Geralt grabs hold of his hip again as he moves to his knees, Jaskier's arse resting on his thighs. The new position almost bends the bard in half, and he groans, pleased. " _Yes_ , fuck, that's- Oh gods, _harder, I'm gonna come_ ," and his nails dig into Geralt's shoulders.

Again Geralt complies, fucking Jaskier faster and harder, and Jaskier _wails_. Geralt's teeth ache from how hard he's clenching his jaw, to keep in all the words he wants to say: how good Jaskier feels, sounds, tastes, how grateful he is that he gets to be the one to do this for him, how much he wants him, no matter what's between his legs. Instead he kisses the bard again, kisses the gasps and moans from his lips and lets himself enjoy this for as long as it lasts.

And then Jaskier starts chanting his name, over and over, interspersed with the odd, "Fuck yes," or, "Like that, just like that," and Geralt pushes a hand between their bodies and finds his clitoris. Jaskier's hands tear at his shoulders as he shouts, drawing blood.

Geralt's restraint snaps. "That's it, come on, Jaskier, come on my cock," and he strokes the bard roughly, accompanied by merciless thrusts of his hips.

Jaskier screams. He goes taut all over, his back arching off the bed, and Geralt swears as he fucks him through it. His own orgasm is a breath away, but he holds back, focused on Jaskier and on his pleasure alone.

Until Jaskier moans, "Come in me, _please, come_ ," and it's over. Geralt fucks into him a handful of times and then he's coming with a strangled shout as Jaskier cradles his head where he has it pressed against the bard's shoulder.

They stay entangled, panting in the afterglow, until Jaskier shoves half-heartedly at his bicep. "You weigh a ton, did you know that?"

Geralt snorts a laugh and pushes himself up onto his elbows. Beneath him, Jaskier is grinning, flushed and sweaty - and still very much a woman. "Not quite that much," Geralt rumbles. Jaskier chuckles. Then he frowns.

"The master of comedy strikes once more. You know, Ger- _Hnng_ ," he groans, then twitches, a full-body twitch, and then he hisses, "Out, out, _out_ , get- _Ack_!" Jaskier's face scrunches up, all traces of pleasure entirely gone, and he shoves at Geralt with a palm against his chest. "Fuck, Geralt, I- something's happening, _I can't_ -"

Geralt sits up and pulls out of him, worry flaring bright and icy cold in his chest, but then he understands.

Jaskier is changing back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a pretty detailed description of Jaskier changing back. This could absolutely be triggering so please be aware.
> 
> If you want to skip, jump to "a very naked man".

Geralt watches, fascinated, as Jaskier's female attributes melt away: his chest flattens and gets broader, dark hair sprouting all over. His hair grows shorter, as though it's being sucked back into his head, the hair tie and ribbon dropping onto the pillow. His features sharpen, and when Geralt looks down, he can actually see the seam of Jaskier's cunt knitting closed. Jaskier gasps and writhes, whimpers, and Geralt puts his palm on his stomach.

"Breathe, Jaskier, just let it happen," he rumbles, and Jaskier obeys. He lays there, trembling from head to foot, until the transformation is complete. Jaskier is a man again.

A very naked man.

Between whose thighs Geralt is kneeling, also very naked.

His eyes flicker down, between Jaskier's legs. Yup, that's a cock alright.

Jaskier is still shaking, and Geralt's hand is still on his stomach. "Geralt," he finally says, voice breaking.

"Hm?"

"Am I... Did I..." His tongue pokes out nervously, and Geralt presses down on his stomach gently.

"Curse broke," he says softly, and Jaskier's face breaks into a grin.

"Oh thank _fuck_!" He grins wider. "I mean being a woman had its perks, you know, but I would like to stay myself from now on."

Geralt's mouth twitches into a smile, and he shuffles backwards, out of the vee of Jaskier's legs. "Then maybe you should stop fucking married women."

Jaskier snorts and finally opens his eyes. "Maybe they should stop fucking _me_! I'm not responsible for their actions!"

Geralt drops down onto bed beside him with a huff of laughter. The bard isn't wrong.

"Ugh," Jaskier says, runs his hands over his stomach, his chest, cups his cock with one hand, "feels so _good_ to have this back!" He looks over at Geralt. "I guess I should put on some clothes."

"If you want to," he says mildly, and Jaskier stills.

"You're not bothered by this."

"Why would I be?"

Jaskier gestures at himself, at his broad, flat chest, at his cock. He looks confused, and Geralt rolls onto his side. Lays his hand on Jaskier's chest.

Jaskier's breath hitches.

"This doesn't change how I feel, Jaskier," he says quietly, because it doesn't. The shape of Jaskier's body is utterly irrelevant to him, he's realised over the last couple of days. Sure, he made for a pretty woman, but in the end, that isn't what made Geralt want him. One could even say on the contrary, it just served to drive home the fact that he was attracted to him all along.

"But- Hm. You-"

Geralt leans forward and kisses Jaskier, gently, softly, and the bard breathes out a shivery, " _Oh_ ," when Geralt pulls back again.

"Alright," Geralt asks, and then he's being pulled down by the neck, Jaskier's mouth hungry against his.

When they break apart, Jaskier is breathing heavily and that's definitely a cock poking Geralt in the hip.

"Didn't you just come twice," he asks, amused, as he strokes a hand down Jaskier's back, towards his arse. The bard grins cheekily and throws a leg over Geralt's hip.

"But my cock didn't," and then he's nibbling at a spot on the underside of Geralt's jaw, and the Witcher feels his own cock twitch in definite interest.

The difference in Jaskier's behaviour now that he feels truly comfortable in his body is stark. His touches are purposeful as are his kisses, and when Geralt grabs a handful of his arse and pulls him closer, Jaskier nips at his throat again and laughs.

They rut against each other, Jaskier's moans just as sweet as before even if they are lower in pitch, and the way their cocks glide against each other, with Geralt's still slick with oil and _Jaskier_ , is nothing short of a revelation.

After a long moment of this, Jaskier pulls back with a gasp as Geralt pulls on his cheek gently. "So I have a question. That famed Witcher stamina seems to actually be a thing?"

Geralt smirks and pushes their hips together more firmly. "What do you think?"

The bard's eyes flutter. "Just checking," he says, and Geralt feels a surge of accomplishment at the way his voice trembles. "Another question," Jaskier says, and at Geralt's hum continues, "now that you apparently also fuck men, would you-"

Geralt doesn't let him finish. He pushes Jaskier onto his back and slides between his thighs, moves down the bed, pressing kisses into pale skin along the way. The chest hair will take some getting used to, he thinks, but the way Jaskier moans as he drags blunt fingernails through it is delicious.

Coming face to, well, face with the bard's cock is... odd, but. It's not like Geralt has never done this before. Winters at Kaer Morhen can be very, very long.

"Geralt, you don't have to-" Whatever Jaskier was going to say dies in a groan that sounds very much like Geralt's name, and he hollows his cheeks and sucks gently at the tip. Jaskier whimpers.

Geralt takes his time. He wants to see what will coax which noises out of his bard, what makes his thighs shake, what makes him sink his hands into his own hair and pull. He may not know how to play an instrument, but this is close enough.

Finally one of Jaskier's hands sinks into Geralt's hair, and the sounds he makes grow steadily more desperate. "Geralt, if you don't stop, I'm gonna-"

Geralt pulls off, just long enough to say, "Come, Jaskier, I want you nice and relaxed so I can fuck you," and then he swallows Jaskier right down again.

The bard moans, loud and unashamed, his fingers tightening in Geralt's hair. "Oh _fuck_ , oh, this is really happening, isn't it?" He laughs, a little hysterical, and when Geralt hums around him, he gives a shout as he's swept away, coming down the Witcher's throat.

Geralt doesn't let up, he keeps going until Jaskier is whimpering and almost crying, overstimulated and trying to twist away. Gently, he lets him slip from his mouth and crawls up the bard's body. "You alright," he asks, and Jaskier laughs again.

"I am _perfect_ , thank you for asking," and he strokes his thumb over Geralt's cheek. "That was... everything I'd hoped for."

The Witcher smiles. "Night's young," he murmurs as he leans down until there's just an inch between their lips, "anything else you wanted?"

There's a glint in Jaskier's eyes then, and heat shoots down Geralt's spine.

He rolls Jaskier to his side and lies behind him; Jaskier goes easily, still soft and pliant after his orgasm. The oil is still within reach, and Geralt coats his fingers liberally before he reaches down, between the bard's cheeks. Jaskier moans at the first touch and pulls his leg up, giving Geralt better access.

The Witcher presses a kiss to Jaskier's neck as he, slowly, pushes a finger into him. "There we go," he murmurs, "open up so prettily for me."

"Fuck, Geralt." Jaskier moans, pushes back against him.

"If I'd known that I could've had this years ago," he says quietly, with no small amount of bitterness. "I was so blind, Jaskier."

Jaskier turns his head as much as he can like this, presses sloppy kisses against to Geralt's jaw. "It doesn't matter, we're here now. I'm just... I'm just happy you didn't run the other way when I told you."

"Never," Geralt says, and he means it. The bard may grate on him quite a lot but he would miss him more than he can put into words.

Jaskier smiles, and kisses him again. "I believe you said something about wanting to fuck me?"

They work quickly after that, up to three fingers before Jaskier's patience runs out and he all but begs for Geralt's cock again.

"Don't expect me to come again, love, I'm not twenty any more."

Geralt just hums and slides his cock, slick with oil, between Jaskier's thighs. "We'll see," he says, and the bard huffs.

"Someone's confid _-ah_!" The barb ends in a shout when Geralt moves, fluidly pulling back his hips to position his cock, and sinks into Jaskier. "Oh _fuck_."

"Hm."

Geralt takes the time to just breathe for a moment, to feel, to let the reality of what's happening sink in. Jaskier wants him.

Jaskier _wants_ him, is letting him have this, and not because he has to, no, because he _wants_ _to_. All of it in addition to everything else the bard has given to him of himself over the years, and Geralt winds an arm around Jaskier's chest and pulls him close. Just holds him like that, pressed together, with Jaskier tight and hot around him, and Geralt shivers.

There's a hand on his arm, another in his hair, petting him softly, and Geralt takes a shuddering breath.

"It's all rather a lot, isn't it?" Jaskier's voice is soft, soothing, and Geralt hums in response. "I never thought I could have this," the bard continues quietly, fingertips pushing into Geralt's hair, grazing against his skin. "And now that I do, I still have a hard time believing it's real. Even like this," and he tightens around Geralt, making them both groan.

"It's real," Geralt croaks, forehead pressed against Jaskier's shoulder. "It's real, and it's yours." He swallows thickly. "I'm yours, if you want me, even though I've been... such a bad friend to you."

Jaskier makes an odd choking noise, his fingers twitching against Geralt's head. Then Geralt smells the salty tang of tears, and he looks up sharply. But Jaskier is smiling, even as tears slide down his face. "Please move," he says, "please make me feel you," his voice cracking, and Geralt obeys.

Fucking someone's arse feels different than a cunt, the clutch tighter, somehow hotter, and Geralt loses himself to the sensation. Jaskier moans and begs, pushes back into his thrusts, and when Geralt rolls him onto his front and shoves a pillow beneath his hips, he starts babbling, a constant stream of praise and pleas for, "More, yes, oh please, fuck me, Geralt, Geralt, _Geralt_!"

There's so much longing in his voice, as though he's afraid that once this is over, they'll go back to being... whatever it was they were before. Friends, yes, but friends with secrets from each other. Geralt doesn't want that.

"I'm here, Jaskier," he says with a groan, curled around the bard as he thrusts into the wet heat of him, and he grasps his hand and laces their fingers together. Jaskier clings, and pushes his hips back, and when Geralt pushes his free hand under him, he's hard, his cock weeping in Geralt's hand, and he fucks him harder. Strokes him in time with his thrusts, and Jaskier gasps and moans and writhes, and then-

Geralt knows he should stop, he thinks as he holds on, fucks Jaskier through his orgasm - his fourth one within an hour, _gods_ \- but he can't. Jaskier must be crawling out of his skin with overstimulation but he just... _can't_. He needs this, just as much as the bard does, this reassurance that he's wanted, and he pulls his hand free and moves up onto his knees. He tugs Jaskier up by the hips, and pulls back until just the tip of his cock rests inside Jaskier. The bard looks wrecked, eyes glassy and cheeks wet with tears and spit.

"Tell me to stop," Geralt groans, and Jaskier pushes back against his grip weakly.

"Don't stop," he says, "don't you _dare_ stop."

It's all a blur after that. Jaskier is soft and pliant before him, taking everything Geralt gives him with the prettiest moans and sighs, and when Geralt finally, _finally_ comes, the bard coos and mumbles nonsensical praise into the mattress.

Geralt collapses onto the bed beside him, sweat-slick and breathing hard, and Jaskier just smiles his softest smile at him and asks, "Good?"

Gods, he's fucked.

* * *

Jaskier drifts off to sleep before Geralt has even managed to clean him up, and he lifts him carefully off of the wet spot and tucks him under the blankets. Jaskier immediately, even in his sleep, reaches for him, and even though he's still sweaty and sticky, he lets himself be pulled in. He lies there, staring at the ceiling as he listens to Jaskier's slow heartbeat, his soft, even breathing, and thinks about the last two decades.

So many missed opportunities. So many things the bard had done that, in hindsight, are rather obvious propositions. He's squandered so much time.

 _Not any more_ , he thinks, and presses a kiss to Jaskier's crown.


	11. Epilogue

That winter, Geralt asks Jaskier to come to Kaer Morhen with him. He should've done that years ago, regardless of the status of their relationship. The bard had been by his side for so long, he had sort of owed it to him to share that part of his life with him. Geralt isn't entirely sure why he never did.

Jaskier, predictably, is ecstatic at the prospect. "The infamous Witcher keep! Oh, I need to bring more notebooks, can you _imagine_ all the song material hidden up there?"

"I have a vague idea," Geralt says, amusement lacing his voice. Of course that's where Jaskier's mind goes first. "Vesemir will be happy to share, I'm sure."

The bard is almost vibrating when they walk through the gates of the keep despite the gruelling climb. The others are already there, giving Geralt knowing looks. He just rolls his eyes and leads Jaskier up to his room after introductions have been made.

The bard is none too pleased with this, turning back to look over his shoulder. He almost trips and falls flat on his face twice as they climb the stairs. "Why can't we stay and talk? I want to hear-"

"Because," Geralt says, pulling Jaskier in front of him and trapping him between the wall and his body, "I want to get you out of these clothes and into my bed," he growls, leaning in and dragging his tongue up the column of his bard's throat. "I'm tired of creaky inn beds, or our bedrolls. I want to have you in _my_ bed, where it smells only of me and you, and no one else."

"Oh," Jaskier says, breathlessly. "Well. That's... acceptable."

Geralt bends down, grabs the bard by the thighs, and tosses him over his shoulder. Jaskier squeals. Their packs lay forgotten on the stairs.

Having Jaskier in his bed, naked and panting and begging - it wakes something in Geralt he never expected, something hot and primal, and he takes his time reducing his bard to a whimpering well-fucked mess. He doesn't care that Jaskier's cries were probably heard in the entire keep, he doesn't care about the ridicule Lambert will no doubt try and heap upon him the next morning.

For now, he tugs Jaskier against his side and kisses him, and Jaskier hums into his mouth, smelling sweetly of happiness.

They stay like that for a long time, just kissing lazily, until Jaskier pushes himself up on an elbow and looks down at Geralt with a thoughtful look. "So, what do we tell them if they ask what finally convinced you to bed me?"

Geralt cocks an eyebrow. "The truth."

"What! No!" Jaskier flushes, indignant. "We are absolutely _not_ telling them about that! Geralt! Don't you _dare_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Thank you all for sticking around, it"s been fun!

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09)!


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